Blue Jay
by Kleenexwoman
Summary: Jay offends a witch and Silent Bob must set things right.
1. Once Upon A Time

Title: Bluejay 

Author: Kleenexwoman 

Rating: PG 

Disclaimer: Kevin Smith owns Jay and Silent Bob. As far as I am aware, Baba Yaga belongs to the Russian people, of which I may be one. 

Notes: "Baba Yaga" is the Russian equivalent of the boogeyman. You can read some really cool stories about her that frankly are not really appropriate for children. Her name is pronounced "bah-bah yah-GAH", thank you Gail Shulman for the pronunciation lesson. 

Soundtrack: "Blue Jay Way" by the Beatles, "Free Bird" by Lynryd Skynrd, "Wind Beneath My Wings" by I think Whitney Houston, "Blackbird" by Paul McCartney, and "Come Fly With Me" by Frank Sinatra. 

*************************************

Fairy tales do not lie. That old woman gathering wood? You had better be nice to her, for she may be a powerful fairy that can make diamonds or snakes come out of your mouth every time you speak. Then again, she may be an evil witch who will set you impossible tasks before you can regain your freedom. Better to avoid her altogether unless you have someone watching over you. 

Robert the Silent knew this. He knew of Baba Yaga and her house with the chicken legs, of Koschei the Deathless and his iron skin. His mother had told him the stories of transformation and true love before bedtime to lull him to sleep, and his grandmother had told him the stories of witches and werewolves late at night to keep him awake. 

His favorite story was the one about the Princess and her Seven Swan Brothers, about the princess whose birth would mean the death of her brothers, and so her father the kin sent them away to live in the woods. When she found them, she discovered that they turned into swans at night because of a curse that a witch had put on them. Her brothers told her that to take the spell off, she would have to weave and sew seven shirts for them and that this would take seven years, and that she could not speak while she was doing it. 

So she stayed in the woods and sewed, and a king found her and made her his bride. But she never spoke, and the king's jealous mother accused her of witchcraft. So, still sewing and still not speaking, she was tied to the stake and about to be burned. But as the executioner lit the bonfire, she finished the last shirt. Her brothers came down as swans and rescued her, and she threw the shirts over them and they turned back into men. It was a happy ending for all concerned—except for the jealous bitch in the castle, of course. She suffered the standard Grimm Brothers death of being nailed into a barrel with spikes stuck into it and rolled downhill into the sea. 

Yes, Bob knew all of this. He knew that the youngest of three brothers would always win and that the youngest princess was always the fairest. The rules of the story were inviolable and sacred. 

Jay, on the other hand, did not know this. The only tales his mother had ever told him were the ones about where his father had gone, and by the time he was ten he had figured out the ending to every one. Witches and fairies and magic spells were not something he was interested in. 

*******

The old lady was having a little trouble with her groceries. She had an armful of overflowing bags, and with every step she took, a can or a box would fall out. Then she would have to stop and set down her bags and pick it up, and by the time she had balanced it on top of the bag, something else would have fallen out and she had to begin the process all over again. 

Jay thought this was hilarious. Each time a can would clank out onto the asphalt, he shrieked with laughter. Of course, he had been finding everything hilarious that morning, no doubt due to the premium quality of the cannabis he had partaken of earlier. Still, it was annoying as hell. 

Bob darted out into the parking lot and started picking up the cans. Jay stopped laughing. "What are you, a fucking faggot Boy Scout now?" Bob just glared at him. 

The old lady watched as Bob gathered the containers. "Young man, I must thank you," she said as he carefully piled the cans on top of the bag. 

Bob shrugged. 

The old lady unlocked her car and stuffed the groceries into the trunk. "I insist. Unlike your loud friend over there, you were kind enough to help me out. What is your name?" 

"Yo, I'm Jay and that's Silent Bob," said Jay, his verbal skills heightened by the promise of a reward. 

The lady wrinkled her nose at him. "I asked him, not you. Still…Silent Bob, did you say?" She turned to Bob. "Well, they do say that truth has no tongue." 

Bob nodded. This was a proverb he was familiar with. 

"And yet you may find it useful to speak." She bit her lip. "Hmm, I don't think…No, that should do it." She tapped Bob three times on the lips and turned to get into her car. 

Bob was a little surprised, but he did not press the issue. 

Jay decided to act on his best friend's behalf. "Hey, you old bitch. You said you'd give Lunchbox here a reward. What's this finger-kissing shit?" 

The old lady threw him a nasty look. "Young man, I advise you to be quiet. You might get into a lot of trouble with that big mouth of yours. You said your name was Jay, did you not?" 

"Yeah. What, are you going to report me or something?" 

"Jay," she mused. "Like the bird." 

"Um…" 

The old lady closed her eyes. "For a fortnight be silent, as wise as your friend. Or your name shall transform thee to unhappy ends. There," she said, opening her eyes. "I hope that's good enough." 

For a moment, Jay was dumbstruck. This gave the old lady time to get into her car and drive away. 

Finally, Jay opened his mouth to speak. 

Bob slammed a meaty hand over Jay's mouth. "Don't talk." As he uttered the words, he felt something leave his mouth. 

Jay's eyes grew wide as a silver dollar and a five-dollar bill dropped from Bob's lips. The dollar bounced on the asphalt and rolled into the drain in the center of the lot, but the five fluttered into a puddle. 

Jay removed Bob's hand from his mouth and bent down to pick up the five. "—" He looked at Bob. 

Bob shook his head and put a finger to his lips. 

Jay gritted his teeth. 

"She said it was for fourteen days," said Bob. Three quarters and four ones dropped to the pavement. 

*******

The first few days were interesting. Bob rather enjoyed the silence, a welcome change from the mindless chattering that usually filled the air around Jay. He also liked the look on Dante's face when he hawked up a twenty to pay for the beer and noodles. 

Jay had seemed, at first, to be coping. Bob had decided that it was in his best interests not to talk, and so he did not talk. He made a game of it and crossed off each day on the calendar. 

Eventually it got boring. Jay liked to talk. It was his link to the world, taking in sensations and experiences and filtering them through words, shaping events by commenting on them colorfully and at length. He felt disconnected and powerless, a ghost with no voice. He wondered if this was how Bob felt all the time. 

*******

"Shit." 

Bob looked up in alarm. It had been five days—nine short of the promised two weeks. Jay wasn't supposed to talk. 

"Fuck this. I know I'm not supposed to day anything, Lunchbox, but I can't not talk, all right?" Jay slumped against the brick wall of the Quick Stop. "I can't fuckin' stand it. People are making jokes about Silent Jay and I can't tell 'em to go fuck themselves, a hot chick walks by and I can't even tell her she's hot. If this was supposed to teach me humility or something, it ain't working cause I don't care." 

Bob eyed Jay. No transformation. Still, maybe it wouldn't happen until midnight. He would have to watch carefully and see. 

"What are you looking at, you tubby bitch…" Jay wasn't even listening to what he was saying. It just felt so good to let the words flow again. 

Eventually his diatribe wound down. "Hey, do you still have that thing where money comes outta your mouth when you talk? I could really use some sunflower seeds." 

*******

They walked home in the fading light. Jay was nibbling sunflower seeds from a package, cracking them open and dropping a trail of shells. Bob wondered whether the shells would be gone in the morning and, if so, how they would find their way back to the Quick Stop. Maybe next time he would take some white stones in his pocket. 

He shook his head. Mind with the fairies again. The money trick had been pretty good, but Jay was talking up a blue streak and he hadn't shown any signs of turning into anything. 

"Ya know what's funny, Lunchbox? If you had been the one laughing and I had been picking up those cans, we'd be rich right now from all the fucking money that I'd spit out and…well, you hardly talk anyway, so it doesn't matter." Jay grinned. "Whatever. Transform to unhappy ends. What a fucking lunatic, right?" 

*******

Ah, irony. Where would we be without you? Not playing Skeeball with a longhaired Goddess, that's for sure. 

*******

"AAAARGH!" 

Jay burst out of his room, topless and hatless. He collided with Bob in the middle of the hallway. "Shit, Bob, you gotta help me!" 

Bob stepped back to get a good look at Jay. The blonde boy's entire chest was covered with feathers. They were glossy, black and blue and white striped. 

Jay frantically began pulling feathers out of his chest. "Ow. Fuck! Crap." As he spoke, a new feather appeared for each word. 

Bob gently covered Jay's mouth. Jay looked up at him pleadingly. 

*******

Jay lay naked on the couch, a pillow stuffed into his mouth. He nodded at Bob. 

Bob tugged at a feather. Jay winced. "Mrgph!" 

Bob pulled harder, then stopped. Jay was whimpering and tears were collecting at the corners of his eyes. And the feather still wasn't coming off. 

Jay put the pillow down and shook his head. "I don't think it's going to work. I'm fucking stuck with these." 

*******

Bob sat in the kitchen, staring blankly at the wall. 

Jay had been getting worse. More feathers had been growing in, on his back and limbs and even his neck. His hair had turned into feathers and his arms had grown stiff flaps of flesh that could only be wings. 

Bob had theorized that the curse would only last, as the lady had indicated, a fortnight. And it was probably exact. She had laid the curse on at about 2 in the afternoon, and that was when, if Bob was right, it would stop. Hopefully, Jay would lose his feathers. Maybe Bob would lose his money-speech power too, but that was a small price to pay. 

It had been two weeks. Jay had refused to go out, but he was jumpy and irritable in his room. He kept staring out the window at the tree outside. 

Bob checked his watch. He had shared his theory with Jay, who had insisted on being left alone. 

2:30. Whatever would have happened should have happened by now. 

Bob silently left his chair and padded to Jay's door, knocking gently. There was no response. He twisted the doorknob and stepped inside. 

The room was empty. The window was open, and there were a few feathers on the bed. 

Bob sat in the middle of the room and cried. 

*******

He had searched the entire tri-town area until he remembered the obvious. Witches always lived in the middle of the woods or in a desert or on an island far away from everyone. There was no way he was ever going to find her in a semi-suburban neighborhood. 

He scouted out the neighborhood, scouring each wooded area, each pond and vacant lot. There were stories about cottages and castles that only appeared if you approached them at a certain time of day or from a certain way, and so he visited each place several times a day. 

After about a month, he thought he caught a glimpse of a smokestack reaching above the trees, but when he tried to enter the clearing, there was only a tangle of poison ivy and some empty beer cans. He picked up the cans and put them in someone's trashcan. 

Bob set up a birdfeeder. He hung it outside of Jay's window and filled it with sunflower seeds. He watched carefully for about a week, but didn't see any blue jays. There were a lot of robins and chickadees around, though. 

After the first week he stopped watching. 


	2. Happily Ever After

Eventually, he went back to hanging around the Quick Stop, hoping to find the old lady again. 

It worked. 

"Young man, I am glad to see you again. Could I trouble you to assist me with my groceries?" 

Bob nodded. "Da, babushka." 

The woman smiled. "Ah, I see you've discovered your gift. And your friend, he's flown away?" 

Bob carefully loaded the bags into the trunk. "He's gone. And I have you to thank for it, Baba Yaga." 

"So you've identified me. I suppose your mother told you stories?" 

"My grandmother. She was from the old country." 

"Yes. The old take us with them and the young make us stay." She sighed. "And I suppose you would like him back?" 

"Da." 

"A spell is harder to break than to cast. I'm not just going to snap my fingers and change him back again." 

"I didn't expect that you would." 

Baba Yaga placed her hands on her hips. "Well, what are you going to do, then?" 

Bob took a deep breath. "In the stories, you take on people as servants so they can pay for you breaking a spell. I'll work for you for as long as you want if you just change Jay back." 

"Are you prepared for that? If you remember your stories, you will know that it can take years to work off a debt to a witch." 

Bob nodded. "If I can get Jay back, it will be worth it." 

Baba Yaga opened the door to the car. "Very well. Get in." 

*******

Bob was surprised at the witch's choice of housing. She lived in a small brick house in a quiet, wooded neighborhood. There were no skull lanterns or chicken legs on the foundation, just a slightly overgrown lawn and a flowerbed with some suspicious-looking flowers. 

A heavyset redhead woman tapped on the car window. "Ms. Yaga, may I help you with your groceries?" 

Baba smiled. "No thank you, Ursula. I've hired a young man to help me with these things now. You and the neighbors won't be bothered with me for a while." 

Ursula's eyes grew wide. "Does that mean you won't be…um, protecting us anymore?" 

Baba patted Ursula on the shoulder. "Of course I will. Anyway, it's only temporary. Robert here will only be staying with me for a short time." 

Ursula nodded. "Great to meet ya, Robert," she said to Bob. "I live next door. If there's anything I can do, just come over and ask." 

Bob shook her hand, and Ursula fled back to the relative safety of her well-kempt lawn. 

"I know you have heard of me as an evil hag that eats children," Baba said, leading Bob up the walk to the front door, "but there is no room for hags here. I've left that part of me back in Mother Russia. There are too many things here already that frighten children—gangs and serial killers and pedophiles. So I live here and grow fat and old and soft." 

*******

Baba Yaga indeed had grown soft, Bob reflected. It had been a week, and the hardest task he had been set to was struggling with the weeds in the flowerbed. Her house was dark and cozy, with old-lady knickknacks and throw rugs all over. There wasn't any huge cauldron, nor an enormous cast-iron oven for baking children in. Instead of a mortar and pestle, an old Chevy Nova sufficed for transportation. 

The power of the fairytale still seemed to be in effect, though. Baba Yaga had shown him some of her most treasured possessions, including a comb, a mirror, and a beaded barrette that could turn into a forest, a lake, and an army. And Bob counted at least three mice that he was pretty sure were people he had gone to school with. 

During the week, Bob had been pleasantly busy with Baba's mysterious chores. He had been sent out to a Laundromat to clean someone else's clothes. (The someone had been a young man who had caught sight of his own basketball jersey, bloodstained, and gone on that night to die in a car crash.) He had gathered up loose sticks and flowers for Baba to fashion into a crude mannequin and change into a girl for someone to take to the prom. Yeah, the old lady had changed quite a bit from the monster she'd been in his grandmother's stories. 

"Get up." 

Bob jumped up from his seat on the overstuffed sofa. "Yes, Baba?" 

The old lady looked different. She had changed out of the flowered muumuu she tended to wear and into a black dress with skulls embroidered on the hem. Her eyes were glowing green and her teeth were longer and sharper. 

"Is time to prove your worth. You have worked for me for a week, have earned the chance to do this. Now get up. We are going." Her accent was stronger, too. 

Bob looked out the window. The sunny residential street had been replaced with dark, thick woods. There were skulls on sticks. Glowing skulls. And huge, scaly chicken legs were sticking out of the side of the house. 

Bob almost choked on a nickel. 

*******

Baba Yaga dumped a huge bag of greenery on the floor. Bob recognized it well—it was the only herb he knew inside and out. 

"Is medicinal," Baba explained. "You job is to separate the seeds by the time I get home. I assume you know the difference?" 

Bob nodded. 

"Very well. I will be out until sunset. If I find a single seed mixed in, you will be back at home and lose your friend." 

Bob picked through the pile of pot. The seeds were tiny, and there were a hell of a lot of them. If this was medicinal, the witch was really getting ripped off. He made a mental note to tell her. 

He sighed. It was going to be impossible to get any of these out. The witch would come back, and the seeds would still be mixed in with the leaves, and Jay would be gone forever. 

"I'm sorry, Jay," he muttered. A dime rolled out of his mouth. He picked it up and pitched it out the window. 

*******

The small brown bird eyed the piece of metal. It wasn't food. Nor was it nest-building material. On the other hand, it was shiny. And every bird knows what kind of birds like shiny things. 

The sparrow edged out of the general area. Blue jays were loud and annoying and sometimes tried to attack you. It wasn't a good idea to be around where they were. 

Its suspicions were quickly proved right when the other bird landed. The blue-feathered avian cocked its head to one side and stared at the coin. 

Another dime flew out the window. 

"Kyah!" The blue jay fluttered up and darted into the window. 

*******

Bob picked up his head and opened his eyes. The seeds were neatly arranged into a little pile on the table, and the leaves were even packed into a plastic bag. 

Before he could marvel at the sudden proliferation of order imposed upon the marijuana, there was a pounding on the door. "I am back. Has your duty been performed?" 

The door flew open on its hinges. Baba Yaga swept in. Her eyebrows rose when she saw the piles on the table. "Impressive." 

Bob smiled proudly. 

"I hope," Baba added, "you have enough strength left for two more days." 

The smile fled. 

*******

"Your next task." Baba Yaga pointed to a tree. Bob dutifully looked it at. It didn't look any different from any of the other billion trees in the forest that they had been tramping through for hours. 

"I have craving for ghost apples. There are many of them in this tree. Go up and pick all of them. I will be back by sundown." She dropped a huge wicker basket at Bob's feet and left. 

Bob stared up at the tree. It was really, really tall. And the branches were incredibly spindly. And there were leaves—huge, thick leaves that were packed so closely it would be impossible to get through them. And how the hell was he going to get that basket up to the top of the tree? 

He tried shinnying up the tree. He tried stepping on branches, which broke. He thought about making a rappel line, but he didn't have any rope. He even kicked the tree, hoping that it would shake some of the apples down. He stubbed his toe. 

Bob sat down in defeat.  

As if to echo his sentiment, there was a hollow knocking sound in the top of the tree. An apple fell right into the wicker basket. 

Bob picked it up and studied it. It was very small, about the size of a golf ball, and a deep purple hue. 

Another apple fell. It hit Bob on the head. Then another, and then another, and then another… 

*******

Baba Yaga picked up the basket and nodded in approval. "Good. You have gathered all of the apples." 

Bob nodded. 

"I am impressed. I did not think you would be able to do this. Still, you have one day left and one task before I turn your friend back." She hefted the basket onto her back. "Will be difficult. Will be dangerous. You may die," she cautioned him. 

Bob shrugged. 

*******

They stood at the edge of a huge lake. It was a beautiful sight, the sun rising over the still blue waters. Bob didn't notice; he was still half-asleep. 

"In a few minutes the sun will be completely risen," observed Baba Yaga. 

Bob yawned. 

"Then will be your next task," the witch went on. "When the sun has risen, the serpent that lives in this lake will wake up. He stole a treasure of mine a long time ago, and I want it back from him. Do you understand?" 

Bob blinked. 

Baba Yaga sighed. "Defeat the serpent and get back my treasure. And you don't need a weapon. You have all the weapons you need right with you." She poked him in the throat. "Now get to it." 

Bob wrapped himself in his coat and sat down on the sand to await the dawn. 

*******

The sun had risen. It had cleared the tops of the trees and still Bob was tired. 

He got to his feet and looked around. No serpent. He spat into the water. 

A scaly head arose from where his saliva had landed. Bob stared at it in horror. It looked like a snake, but it had—oh God—enormous eyes made out of fire. And it was huge. 

The serpent turned its head around and began moving out to the middle of the lake at top speed. Bob ran for it. As soon as he hit the water, the freezing shock of it made him shriek. 

The serpent stopped and seemed to wince. 

Bob shrieked again, experimentally. The serpent arched its neck out of the water and hissed at him. 

Bob took a deep breath. "Aiiiiiiiiiiiyayayayayaiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee—" remembering the way his grandmother screamed at the kids who always traipsed across her lawn, an ancient Russian war cry from the steppes of Siberia. 

The serpent roared and rushed toward him, tongue dripping acid. Bob stepped aside and let it slam into a tree. 

They repeated this dance for what seemed to be hours. The serpent may have been powerful, but it was also stupid. Every time Bob yelled, the serpent barreled toward him; every time, Bob dodged it and made it run into a tree or a rock or something similarly immovable. 

Eventually the sun was getting low, and the serpent was getting tired. It barely bonked into Bob's chosen tree…Then it lay still. 

Bob crept cautiously toward it. Had the dumb beast chosen this moment to try a subterfuge? 

It was lying on its side, mouth open and tongue lolled over its jaw. Its eyes were closed. 

Bob tapped it and rolled its head over. Clearly dead. He wondered how he was going to find the treasure now. 

"I see you have done what I asked you to." 

Baba Yaga was standing behind him, grinning. "I am very proud of you, child of silence. You have served me well and carried out each task." 

Bob hung his head. "Not all. I didn't find your treasure." 

Baba Yaga laughed. It wasn't the cackling of a witch, but a high-pitched sound, like bells. "Is right here." She reached into the mouth of the serpent and pulled out a flower. 

Bob's eyebrows rose. 

Baba sniffed the flower, twirled it around in her fingers, and then opened her mouth and ate it. "Come, Robert. We go back." 

*******

After dinner, Baba Yaga stood up and stretched. "Ah, I feel it working." She patted her hair. Her fingers went to the part of her steel-gray tresses and she dug in as though she was trying to work something loose. Bob was transfixed. 

She slowly brought her fingers down over her hair. As she did, it changed from grey to honey blonde. Bob could see a transparent film, like a snakeskin, separating from her epidermis. 

She continued with her slow shedding, carefully peeling bits of her skin off. Wrinkles disappeared, features softened, brown spots became soft pink flesh. 

At last the deed was done. Her old skin lay in tatters about her on the rug. 

She brought her head up to meet Bob's eyes, and he could see that she was beautiful. 

Baba Yaga smiled. "You have brought me back my youth. Now enjoy yours." 

Bob blushed. Then she whacked him on the head with a walking stick. 

*******

Bob awoke. 

He was in his own bed. In the apartment that he and Jay shared. Used to share, because birds didn't live inside. 

Bob got up and looked in Jay's room. 

There was a huge pile of blue feathers scattered around the bed. Bob had made the bed and smoothed the sheets before he went to find Baba Yaga, but there was a lump in the middle of the bed. Jay's blonde head was sticking out of the blankets. 

Jay propped himself up on his elbows and stretched. "Hey, Lunchbox. Where ya been?" 

Bob's jaw dropped. 

"I had sort of a nice time," said Jay. "I was a bird! I got to fly." He grinned at the memory. "But I had to eat bugs and shit. That sort of sucked." He hopped out of bed and went to the kitchen. He wasn't wearing anything, from whence Bob supposed the phrase "naked as a jaybird" originated. 

Bob followed him. 

Jay stopped and turned around. "And you know what? I missed you." He wrapped his arms around Bob's waist and kissed him. 

Bob was very surprised. 

Jay detached himself from Bob and opened the fridge. "By the way, you were really good with that serpent thing." 

"You were watching?" Bob stammered. 

"Yeah. I didn't know you could sound like that, Tubby. And hey, I figure you owe me for helping you with those apples and the pot that witch gave you." 

Bob gaped. "But I did all those things to help you—" 

Jay laughed. "Yeah. I was just shitting you." He kicked the fridge closed and snuggled up to Bob. "I owe you my life, man." 

"I love you too," said Bob. 


End file.
